Yeah, you read that right. We’re fighting. Sometimes I win, sometimes it wins, but it’s still a fight. After this last round of back injury deliciousness and the added fantastic side dish of food allergies I decided to really focus on getting back in shape.

I’ve been working out in ways I’ve never experienced before – and I love it. But sometimes I hate the immediate after effects.

For instance, the excruciating pain.

It doesn’t happen often and I can usually tell in advance if a certain routine or new move is gonna kill me later. But sometimes, just sometimes, it sneaks up on me. No warning while doing it, but the next day? HOLY SHIT.

Like say…. Squats.

I did a modified version of those two days ago. A simple up and down motion onto a bench. Feet spread apart. No big deal. Wasn’t too terribly difficult – two sets of 15. Okay, so 12-15 on that last set were a little uncomfortable. But I DID THEM, g-ddamnit. (I have this thing about finishing. It’s stupid.)

Yesterday I woke up and felt, uh, some pain. By noon I was ready to take a knife and cut my quads off my body. Like a fish being filleted. One large blade, held next to the bone, slight sawing motion – RIGHT. OFF.

It never got better and by the time Husband got home from work I could barely move. Sitting at the dinner table was a challenge. Well, not sitting, but actually getting my butt to the chair. THAT was bad. You would think I would have taken that hint that my legs had no interest in helping me out last night.
But I didn’t. I’m pretty sure the pain clouded my thinking. I had this fantastic idea to get in a hot bubble bath, the hottest water I could stand, soak for a while and then stretch out a little. Totally logical, right?

Also? Bubbles!

It was lovely. I read some more of The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo on my iPhone while I soaked. The room smelled of lavender bubbles.
And then it was time to get out.

Have I mentioned that I have a really large tub? Longer than I am and really deep? No? Well, that information will come in handy for you right about…now.
I couldn’t move. More specifically I couldn’t get my legs to bend and get up underneath me to be able to stand up. It was comical, but not. I decided to see if “backing out” of the tub might work. So, with great grace, I flipped myself over onto my stomach and tried to get up on all fours.

It worked! And, man, did I look hott.

By only the power of my arms and abs did I push myself up to a standing position. Benjamin watched the whole thing and in true three-year-old style declared, “Mommy? Sometimes you’re weird,” and then ran out of the bathroom.

I kinda thought I deserved a standing ovation.

Thanks to genetics and a recurring back injury due to a degenerating disc, I have to exercise or else I end up in excrutiating pain once a year. This past year I hadn’t been diligent about it and, once again, ended up in an ungodly amount of pain and distress and hoo boy wasn’t THAT fun.

I really don’t want to do that again.

So I started back to physical therapy for several weeks at a local practice and really liked it. I had stated my goal was to be able to run some version of an NFL combine (for my Life List) because if I could do THAT I knew I would be in good shape.

All was trucking along fine until my insurance company decided I was healed enough to be done with physical therapy (they were sort of right) so I stopped. But then I started to hurt again. I decided I needed to return to some sort of structured workout that cared for my back but also allowed me at some point to transition to some performance training. (Oh, and of course the one I chose is out of network for my insurance, but I’m sucking it up.)

This is where I am currently training. What you will notice if you click on that link is that this place is really geared towards professional athletes. The folks who come here are training for the draft out of college (from all over the country), pro football players, etc. There are also folks like me who are just trying to recover from something and push it to the next level – or just, you know, be functional again.

Three times now I’ve gone to work out and each time I was surrounded by a ton of pro football players. Many Minnesota Vikings based on what I can tell – and many from other random teams. I’m totally the wrong person to be working out here as my knowledge of sports players is limited to those who are currently embroiled in a sex scandal, in jail or somehow may have an interesting hair and sports name combo. (See: Cherokee Parks)

This is an entirely different world. Really, there is no other way to describe it. These guys are huge and strong and agile and haze each other like 15 year old boys in men’s bodies. Testosterone drips from the air and I tweeted that I was drunk on it at one point. These guys may or may not listen to their trainer, but from what I’ve seen they work awfully hard and can do things with their bodies I have NEVER been able to do – even when I was in really good shape.

Defensive ends lifting god-awful amounts of weight. Running backs leaping from a standing position as high as my shoulders (and I’m 5’9”). Receivers moving in drills that astonish me. It’s enough to make you feel like an asshole for being out of shape at the ripe ol’ age of 39.

I love this place. It is SO not my regular life. But it is a terrific experience – and I think that’s why it is effective. It is so easy to get caught up in “regular” life that exercise and health become just drudgery and boredom. The power of putting yourself in a completely unfamiliar environment is fantastic. Do I feel ridiculous? Yep. Do I feel weak and silly? You bet. But that goes away. Eventually I realized that everyone is there to work. Me included.

And after all of this hard work? I expect to not only be able to pass all sorts of fitness tests, but I better have some rocking abs, ass and arms.

Just sayin’.

Updated: I wrote this post shortly after getting home from a workout. My endorphins have since worn off and I went immediately to the bathroom for an Aleve. Oh, my G-d I am old.

I have a back issue. At the ripe old age of 39 (for several more months thankyouverymuch) I have a degenerating disc between my L4 and L5 vertebrae. There is nothing surgically that can be done – it is a gift from the genetics fairy – but, as an added bonus, I have a fairly unstable and unsupported lower back that does benefit from a regular course of pilates.

For a couple of years I was pretty diligent about it. Although, once a year I’d fall off the exercise wagon and get lazy and, lo, there’d be a back blow out the likes of which are biblical in pain proportion. Almost three weeks ago I had yet another blow out. While sitting in my car at the grocery store as I was turning to look over my right shoulder to back out of the parking space. And it was spectacular.

There are many, many things that go into dealing with a back injury. No, I said that wrong . There are many, many humiliating things that go into dealing with a back injury. And these things (along with the sheer excrutiating pain) are now my permanent reminder that I will never, never stop going to pilates ever again.

But right now? I’d just like to get to physical therapy. Seriously. I’m so excited to go I can’t stand it. (Though I will tell you my pedicure is ATROCIOUS since I can’t really get around anywhere and doing it myself kind of isn’t an option right now. I hope they can forgive me for a week.) I’ve never looked so forward to exercise in my whole life. And I’ve now also realized that, thanks to the latest food information, I’m also really quite motivated to raise the bar a bit on my health level. I’ve declared 2010 The Year of Abs, Ass and Arms. Oh, and heart. I need to get some cardio work going up in here tout suite.

For those of you who have followed my mom’s story you know of her medical challenges. (She’s totally fine by the way and kicking much as in the research protocol she’s involved in.) Well, here’s one for you. At the age of 63 my 5-foot-one-half-inch, cancer-beating, chemo-taking, powerhouse of a mom is working out right alongside professional football players and RUNNING THE COMBINE. And holding her own.

WTF is MY excuse?!

Right.

You don’t get one either.